


Ad Infinitum

by thewritingroom



Series: Ad Infinitum [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is a Mess, Childhood Sweethearts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Reader, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Jedi Mind Tricks (Star Wars), Kylo Ren Redemption, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Redeemed Ben Solo, Slow Burn, The Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingroom/pseuds/thewritingroom
Summary: All you dream of is him. The boy - and flames. Somehow the heat of his gaze singes your skin more effortlessly than the fire which erupts around you. Your body recognizes him, responds to him. He only exists in sleep. You wake to your monotonous life each day, plagued by some distant memory of a boy you never knew... or did you?Do you?When Dream Boy suddenly appears on base alongside Rey, your world is turned on its head.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo/Reader, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Ad Infinitum [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743289
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	1. Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at fan fiction, but I have felt so inspired and drawn to write for too long. I hope you enjoy my attempt to give Ben Solo a proper chance at redemption following TROS timeline.

_Flames engulf your every sense. The crackle of the inferno, harsh to your ears. Lungs burning with every inhale, your body searches - screams for oxygen. In a desperate rush to flee your imminent asphyxiation, you haul your aching limbs from your small cot, legs heavy with sleep. Lack of oxygen and your inability to shake the drowsy haze numbing your instincts, your knees buckle and you tumble towards the cool stone floor. Finally, eyes open, the smoke fills your sight - it blinds and stings. Your lungs expel billowing breaths of smoke and soot - you feel dangerously close to death. With shaky joints, you crawl to the wooden opening, promising sweet release. The architecture around you whines and groans under the pressure of the heat and flames making your rushed escape all the more more urgent. With hands and knees raw from the terrain, you manage to crack the door open, hinges giving way with a low and heavy creak._

_Shoving the door ajar just enough to slip your tired body through, hands weary, you pull yourself to the cobblestone just outside of the structure. Sudden relief floods your senses as your lungs greedily inhale the pristine night air. You give your shaking arms a rest as you turn to lay on your back. Body soothed by the cool stone, you lay surveying the vast expanse of stars which flood your vision - flames canvasing your view._

_You hear it then - distant wailing, cries of agony. With a clear oxygenated mind, you sense danger - apprehension turning fiery nerve endings into dry ice._

_Slowly, you flip your fragile body over to scrutinize the landscape before you. Eyes widening, you watch in horror as surrounding huts are swallowed in a fiery blaze. As far as your sight can stretch, blinding waves of orange and red incinerate the grounds. In the distance, you spot the temple, crumbling in fiery confrontation. Within the destruction around you, your eyes spot Yanna, a dear friend. Though a few years younger than you, Yanna is a promising student; much more diligent and much stronger with the force than most her age. A fleeting wave of comfort washes over you until you realize the worst. She lay limp amongst the rubbled remains of her hut. You can’t sense her - force signature seemingly wiped from her body._

_She can’t be._

_She’s gone._

_Peering around the landscape, you realize the same fate has met several force-sensitive peers you had acquainted yourself with through the years. Overwhelming grief cascades through your very being. You sit up on tender knees in disbelief - the breath seemingly wiped from your lungs. Uncontrollable tears stream down soot-stained cheeks as the world around you burns. You clutch your ribcage as sobs wrack your body, making you sick with sorrow._

_In your moment of hysteria, your skin buzzes, the force making you suddenly hyper aware. Looking up, your eyes adjust to the scene unfolding around you. You sense him. **Ben**._

_Your Ben._

_**He’s Alive**. _

_Just beyond the line of huts within your line of sight, you see him. Even in the shadow of night, Ben’s presence perplexes you._

_He feels - different._

_You sense it. His signature is dark. Ben’s usually languid and smooth form carries a sense of severity you do not recognize. Ben’s movements are crazed, leaden with purpose. He rigidly searches the grounds. You cry out for him a moment before you see it - the unmistakable cerulean blaze of his saber._

_Ben’s movements falter; his pause yielding visual and energetic bursts of tension. Your mind pieces together the scene before you just as his gaze finds you. His brow bone, heavy with frustration, anger. Those lips - formed into a dangerous snarl causing your heart to race._

_Fear becomes you. Ben’s heavy strides carry him to your frozen form before you have time to react, to hide. Ben’s eyes, illuminated by fire, are red with agony. You feel a tidal wave of emotion emanating from him - fear, betrayal, grief, sadness, anger._

_The anger reverberating through him scares you most of all. Fury encapsulates him, reflecting in his irises. Ben’s saber remains ignited and pointed towards your form, his other, clenched in a tight fist._

_“Ben -” you manage to whisper, voice failing you. His brow momentarily softens, eyes glossing over, saber lowering a millimeter._

_Just as suddenly as you glimpse a sense of humanity, Ben clenches his jaw, shoulders tensing, saber aimed with purpose once again._

_“Ben is dead. He was weak,” Ben replies, tears threatening to escape his eyes, cracking his stoic expression._

_Ben’s saber, emanating pure unadulterated heat crackles as it threatens certain death with a swift “swish”. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as fresh tears fall from your eyes - not in fear, but in pain. Ben’s pain, you realize. Ben’s grip on his saber leaves his knuckles impossibly white. You wonder how he hasn’t shattered the hilt._

_“What - what happened?”, you whisper once more, teary eyes meeting his own, searching for remnants of his soul. Ben’s eyes explore your face for any sign of betrayal. You feel him prodding at your mind, looking for your next move._

_Ben exhales like he had been holding his breath for minutes rather than moments. You observe the same degree of stress in his body; tense, ready to snap._

_“Luke Skywalker tried to kill me”, Ben’s jaw clenches as he all but spits out the words. “Everything in my life has been a lie. But not now,” he shakes his head. “It is clear what I must do”. His words send a harsh shudder through your body. Head hung low, your sore knees send gentle tremors throughout your being._

_Silence, besides the warm hiss of his saber fills the space between you. Looking up into his eyes, “Ben - I don’t understand. Help me understand,” you plead._

_His eyes betray him, shock soaking his features. He hadn’t been prepared to explain himself. His urges were primal - the result of several years of uncertainty, of rejection. He had acted to reclaim himself - assert some semblance of power he felt had always eluded him. Inwardly, he scolds himself. He should have already killed you._

_Ben’s expression returns to that of apathy. He had revealed himself for a fleeting moment, and as quickly, had hidden himself away in some abandoned box in his mind. You feel his uncertainty, but are locked out of his conscience as swiftly as he senses your prying._

_“I know what I have to do. I must leave this place. **I must let the past die** ,” Ben utters through closed teeth._

_Silence again plagues the short distance between you. The gravity of his words now registering in your mind, your soul._

_Ben._

_Your light._

_Your life._

_The only boy you had ever loved._

_**Ben is going to kill you.** _

_The thought registers, seeping like tar through your veins. You hang your head in defeat, awaiting the inevitable slash of his saber. Heavy sobs wrack your tired form, filling the air with grief, with surrender._

_Weeping, you ponder your most cherished memories.You think of his smile. You think of Ben’s heated gaze filling you with such warmth; you might implode before he even strikes you. You think of the nights he held you so close to his chest you became one with his own heartbeat._

_As peace fills your being, Ben whispers, **“Come with me”.**_

_You raise your eyes to meet his own - sullen, purposeful, pleading. Your lip trembles, knowing his meaning and knowing that more than anything, you want to follow - to be with him. You try to convince yourself you have the strength to do so. You try to convince yourself that everything will be alright so long as you’re together. He tries too._

_Your body begins to quake in the solemn knowledge that you could never give him what he was asking of you. You would never be able to pledge yourself to the dark side of the force - regardless of the pain you feel. Regardless of your soul’s need to be with Ben._

_You know that your Ben is gone._

_“I - I can’t. I’m sorry,” your voice carries with more strength than you believe you can muster. “You know I can’t. A- and you know I -.”_

_“I know,” he replies, a stray tear rushing from the corner of his eye. You offer him a small smile, trying to engulf him in the love you feel for him - the love you will always feel for him._

_Bracing yourself, you look to the sky, searching the stars for answers to questions you’ve never voiced. Closing your eyes, you feel a tear soothe your blazing skin as you exhale in surrender to your fate._

_You feel warm. But not from the burn of Ben’s lightsaber._

_You feel enveloped in warmth. Bewildered, you open your eyes to find yourself folded into Ben’s arms, his quivering body rapidly pulling you into reality. Ben had collapsed to his knees before you, binding his limbs with yours. You notice his saber laying dormant on the ground, inches from his body. Ben’s face burrows itself into the seam where your neck and your shoulder meet, seeking purchase in you. Hot tears fall from his eyes and seep into your skin. Without another thought, you tightly bind your arms around his shoulders, attempting to merge your bodies into one, attempting to piece him together._

_Ben withdraws his face from your comfort, keeping his arms tightly wound around you. You look up into his glossy eyes as a sense of willful determination - resolve returns._

_Ben waves a hand in front of your eyes, **“You will speak nothing of this night”.**_

_“I will speak nothing of this night,” you drone, entranced. Ben releases your waist, placing both hands on your shoulders for support._

_He pauses. **“You will forget this night and you will not follow, or track me.”**_

_“I will forget this night and I will not follow, or track you,” you ramble back, eyes glossed over. Ben pauses once more, staring deep into your eyes, memorizing you._

_**“You will close yourself off from the force... and you will forget me.”** _

_“I will close myself off from the force and I will forget you” you whisper - obedient, though hesitant._

_Ben’s hand waves in front of your eyes once more._

_“Sleep,” he utters, just before the world around you fades to black._

_________________________________________

You bolt awake, the bright light of the medic tent temporarily blinding you. 

“Kriff,” you quietly curse yourself. 

_“How long have I been out?” _you think.__

__

__You had just been organizing reports, charting the aftermath of the last mission gone awry. The pile of paperwork in front of you had the faint reminiscence of drool staining the pages. You inwardly curse as you pull yourself from your desk chair and move to put the files back in their place._ _

__

__The silence around the tent is almost jarring. There was nearly always some sort of medical emergency to deal with, keeping you busy. Not now though. It had been two days since almost the whole of the Resistance had made its way to Exegol with Rey’s help._ _

__You absentmindedly file, reflecting on the bravery of your colleagues, knowing you could never think to contribute to the cause in that way. Shaking the thought, you attempt to talk yourself into the life you've chosen._ _

___You enjoy being a medic. You enjoy the monotonous day-to-day tasks during times of calm and you live for the thrill and sense of purpose you get from saving lives when duty calls._ _ _

__With a scoff, you continue idling around the unit, trying to make yourself busy. With a yawn, you realize how late it must be - silence and the steady beep of monitors filling the halls. Having done all you could for the night, you move through the tent, checking the few patients resting peacefully on their gurneys. Walking past the droid station, several bots charge against the wall and the med assistant, Andra, peacefully reads on a datapad._ _

__

__“ ’Night Andra,” you murmur, slowing as you pass her relaxed form._ _

__

__“Sheesh, it’s about time you get some rest. Goodnight, (Y/N),” Andra sleepily replies, yawning as she speaks. You chuckle, making your way out of the opening. “Hey!” you turn back expectantly. “You work too hard,” Andra scolds._ _

__

__You let out a quiet laugh, not sparing a glance behind you, waving a hand in acknowledgement. Leaves and dry dirt crunch under your boots as you make your way to your tent. You cross your arms over your chest, the night air on Ajan Kloss making your walk brisk, but comfortable. The base is quiet, save for the gentle breeze rustling thick jungle leaves. You wish the calm of the night air would engulf you._ _

__

___You wish._ _ _

__But this dream. This persistent dream - this _nightmare_ has plagued you for days. Over the past week, this dream has woken you, burdening you with feelings of profound sadness, loneliness, loss. _ _

__

__You can’t pinpoint why this dream feels so real. The only time you had dreamt of this was years ago - merely a teenager’s nightmare._ _

__

___It all just feels so real._ _ _

__The fire, the smoke, the sadness, _the embrace.__ _

__

__You happen upon your tent as you think of him._ _

__

___Kriff, he feels so real._ _ _

__

__You stumble inside, working your way through the dark with little trouble. Clambering out of your pants, clumsily as ever, you take an exacerbated seat on your cot, wiping your eyes with your sleeves. You don’t even bother dealing with your sweater - your mind too preoccupied to worry about the worn piece of clothing and body frankly, too exhausted. Collapsing on your bed, you think of him._ _

__

__Shutting your eyes, you’re met with his - searing brown, seemingly staring into your very core. You shudder at the sheer power and beauty they seem to possess. You map his smattering of freckles, strewn about his narrow face, much like constellations. Oh how your fingers long to trace them. A plush set of lips, soft, pillowy. His long, prominent nose, perfectly tying his features together. His ears, slightly awkward, somehow making him seem more human. You imagine brushing a piece of his silky raven hair behind his ear._ _

__

___He is a masterpiece._ _ _

__

__Huffing one final sigh, you look up at the dim, beige cloth “ceiling” and ponder the origin of your dream. You wonder if perhaps, the boy you keep seeing - Ben, is somehow lost and thinking of you too. His face, much like other nights, becomes the last thing you see as you succumb to the intoxicating pull of sleep._ _

____


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I am so excited to share more content. Things from this point will be picking up in a big way! I just finished the academic year (finally) and will have tons more time to dedicate to writing. This next bit is actually split into two chapters (it just ended up being waaaaay too much to cram into one part), so please enjoy both new installments to this story. Please, as always let me know what you think in the comment section. Thank you thank you (from the bottom of my heart) for reading and letting me share this story with you all.

You’re awoken uncharacteristically early. Rest has evaded you for days - ever since you began dreaming of him. Eyelids heavy, you roll onto your side, blinking the sleep away with a yawn. With your tent tightly closed, the concept of time is lost on you; your beige surroundings shielding your eyes from any indication of light. With a defeated huff, you sit up, inadvertently sheathing yourself of warm coverings. Deciding sleep is a lost cause, you elect to go for a run.

Pulling your sweater off, you replace it with a simple training top and pull on the nearest pair of sweatpants. Slipping on your boots, you peel back the cloth panel opening of your tent and head out into the ~~night?~~ morning. 

_”Kriff, I forgot how much I hated running,”_ you think, as you deftly make your way through the jungle. Lungs heaving, you consider turning back; _surely_ your body would be tired enough to grant you a few winks of rest. Noting the growing light illuminating the flora, you shake the thought from your mind. Your destination is _most_ beautiful in the gentle sunlight reflected in the early hours of the cycle and in the hours where light begins to dim and the jungle begins to quiet. 

Pushing forward, your limbs carry you through vast green, moving without thought. Your legs begin to slow as they approach the clearing. Moving a layer of overgrown brush with your hand, you stand on a flat stretch of green, canvassed by countless fragrant plant life of blue, green, and yellow. Weaving through the landscape, careful not to disturb the flowery inhabitants, you make your way to the edge of the flatlands. Settling on tired limbs, you perch yourself at the edge of the expanse, legs dangling, looking over a wide pool of sparkling water. Breathing in the now warming air, you fold your legs under yourself and close your eyes. 

_Maybe I’ll fall asleep like this._ Humming at the thought, you succumb to the immense weight of peace surrounding you. 

Your breath becomes the breeze, gently blowing through your hair. Limbs becoming heavy, you melt into the grass below you, body claiming roots in the soil. 

As your breath moves in steady increments, your grasp on the peaceful landscape begins to fade. Instead of the dimness offered by the covering of your eyelids, a dark landscape paints your vision. 

_You’re standing in a deep recess in the atmosphere - a structure, composed of rock and stone. It’s cold here. Not merely sending a chill to your skin, but to the innermost parts of your being. Nervously, you rub your forearm and scan your surroundings. The dark consumes you. Shivering, you freeze in place, noticing the large stone hooded figures lining the chamber. Eyes widening, you note the large stone throne which stands monumental, central._

_“The throne of the Sith,” you scoff in disbelief.  
Almost as if some **thing** , some **force** compels you to, you begin to gravitate towards the structure. An arm’s reach away, your focus shifts elsewhere._

_That’s it. That signature. You feel him._

_Peering over your shoulder you spot them - Rey, leaning over an unconscious man. She desperately shoves him, a look of bewilderment painting her features._

_“Ben. Ben!” she tries as she rustles his limbs. “I’m going to get you out of here, Ben. You’ll be safe. Just - just please hang on,” she pleads, opting to squeeze his motionless hand. She smiles faintly at his unconscious form, ruffling his hair, shifting it from his face._

_You walk towards the pair, concern (undoubtedly) etched into your features. Peering over Rey’s crouched form, you steal a glance at the man laying on the cool floor._

_His eyelids closed, you long to see the amber which lays dormant below._

__

_Those freckles - you practically have them memorized by now._

_Those lips - sewn together in a soft line._

_Moving to your knees beside him, a tentative hand finds his abdomen - tracing over a small circular hole in his shirt, settling itself over it. You can almost feel his breath pumping through your lungs; it’s shallow, but it’s steady. Eyes closed, you find yourself attempting to breathe for him, steady breaths feeding through your nose and exiting through his lungs._

_In your silent haze, you almost miss the way his breath moves your hand slightly higher and deeper than before. Eyes open, you survey the subtle change in his breathing, watching your hand elevate and descend steadily, deeply. Looking up towards his face again, your breath catches as your eyes meet his; those which haunt your dreams and fill you with such heat, you feel you’d melt into the ground beneath your feet._

_“Does - does he see me?” you wonder as Rey wraps her arms around his broad torso._

_“Ben - Ben, you’re back. You’re safe.” Rey cries into his shoulder._

_Jumping back, you scramble to your feet behind her. Rey’s happy sobs rock his body, relief heavy in the air. Even as she envelops him, his eyes remain trained on you. Self conscious, you look behind your shoulders; returning your gaze to the man in front of you. All the while, Ben’s searing gaze remains trained on you; only, his eyes are glossy and contain some emotion you cannot identify._

_Blinking away a tear which threatens to escape your eye, you evade his intense stare and wipe your face on your collar. Looking back to the two, you find that Ben had finally returned Rey’s embrace, comforting her shaking body. Tears flow freely from your eyes - out of relief?_

_Yes._

_But there is something else which spurs this reaction. Unable to place it, you turn to leave the two - immediately feeling that you’ve intruded on an intimate moment.  
With your face in your hands, you turn away, walking back towards the vast expanse of darkness._

Blinking your eyes open, the bright light of the clearing washes over you. Shielding yourself from the onslaught of light, you reacquaint yourself with your surroundings. 

_“What the Kriff just happened?”_ you ponder. _It must’ve been a crazy dream._ Considering the anxiety you’ve felt since the Resistance left, it’d be no wonder as to why your brain had conjured up such a scenario. Anxieties aside, you can’t understand why the dream felt so real. 

_”Is Ben okay?”_

Your inner monologue mutters it before you can even filter the thought out. 

Rolling your eyes, you spur your body awake, spinning your legs and hurling yourself up from the plush grass. Exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, you close your eyes; clenching your jaw as you try to will away the tension. Stretching your woozy limbs, you take in the newly altered surroundings. 

The brightness nearly blinds you as it soaks into your vision. The harsh contrast with the darkness which marred your eyes only moments ago churns your stomach. Settling yourself and gaining a grasp of reality, you shift on your feet. 

You figure it’s about mid-cycle, the reflection of the sun hot on your exposed face, toasting and burning the skin. _”Thank Kriff I wore long sleeves,”_ you think. Rolling your sleeves up and wiping the sweat from your forehead, you move to make your way back to base. Rather than run back, you decide to take the time to walk; allowing yourself to reflect on your ~~vision?~~ dream. 

You can’t shake the darkness of the setting from your mind. However, all the more daunting is the reflection of Ben’s gaze in your mind. While he looked slightly older than in your recurring dream, it was him. Without any shadow of a doubt. 

Pondering your vision, you nearly trip over foliage and tree roots which scatter the grounds. While the air around you causes your pores to perspire, you have a difficult time shaking the chill from your bones. 

Roughly a hundred yards from base, the hair at the back of your neck stands up. You hear it - the rumbling of ships entering the atmosphere, the steady hum of engines hovering above the ground. 

_They’re back!_

Nerves stoked to attention, you pick up your pace, accelerating to a quick jog - anticipation shredding all regard for the dull ache in your legs. 

Who’s back?

Any injuries?

_Did we win?_

Legs pushing (with surprising ease) to the final line of trees which separate you from the answers to the questions racing through your mind, another ship whizzes past the trees overhead, making you duck momentarily. Recognizing the tell-tale color scheme and body, you bolt forward in triumph. As if the first ship led the cavalry, various vessels load the atmosphere and fly towards base. 

Hot teardrops stream down your face and drop to the jungle floor as you sprint to meet the victors. As your legs carry you through the green threshold, you’re met with sounds of exultance. 

An all-consuming sense of elation runs through you, like blood filling your veins. This happiness _is_ yours, only it isn’t yours _only_. Your body takes on the excitement, the happiness, the relief of the Resistance fighters surrounding you. 

Sprinting through the treeline, you survey the now busy base, as countless Resistance members offer congratulatory tidings. Making your way through the greenery, you find yourself amongst the crowd, observing the cheerful sight in front of you. Poe and Finn, your new Generals share a meaningful embrace, reuniting at last. 

Amid the happy chaos, a final X Wing hovers the ground, claiming a spot amongst the others. The gentle buzz at the back of your skull hums to life, instincts springing up, lighting a wave of goosebumps down your arms. Finn looks up from his embrace with Poe, “That’s Skywalker’s ship. Rey’s back. She’s back!” he exclaims, running towards the vessel. While seemingly impossible, the mood around the base becomes even more riddled with excitement, unbridled hope. The people surrounding you jump with joy, reunite in emotional embraces, and blink happy tears down their cheeks. 

As happy as you feel, you cannot display that same degree of emotion. You’re entranced, waiting for the ship’s passengers to make their way from the hunk of metal. You wait for the inevitable. As Rey lifts her body out of the cockpit, bloodied and battered, catching Finn and Poe’s eyes, she pauses just outside of the ship. Noting the desperate plea in her eyes, Finn nudges Poe, both running towards her. 

“Are you-” Finn begins, stopping short as he notes the remaining passenger in the vessel. 

“He needs a medic,” Rey exclaims, beginning to urge Ben’s limp body out of the ship. Scrambling under his weight, she peers over her shoulder, wondering why she struggles alone. Eyes wide, Finn and Poe stare on in disbelief, in horror. 

“What the hell is that - that _**monster**_ doing here?” Poe all but hisses. Furious, Rey’s head whirls back to stare him in the eye. 

Clenching her teeth, “If you won’t help him -” Rey gathers herself, “If you won’t _help me_ , you need to leave. **Now.** ” Rey seethes. Sensing the change in mood, the surrounding crowd hushes, an intensely uncomfortable silence replacing the commotion. 

“I... I hope you know what you’ve done,” Poe concedes, turning on his heel, shoving his way through the crowd. Finn, pausing to assess where his loyalty, where his heart lies, watches Poe walk away. As much as it hurts him, he turns back to Rey, helping her guide Ben’s form out of the ship. 


	3. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Ben on Ajan Kloss, your _abilities_ are tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very quickly realizing I really love making up dream scenarios (lol whoops). As always thank you for reading and I hope you're enjoying the ride so far!

“ **Where the hell is the med team?** ” Finn shouts, adjusting Ben’s torso to rest more comfortably in his arms. 

Startling yourself into motion, you follow the small med team making their way through the stunned crowd. Weaving through bodies, murmurs of disbelief, of disgust grace your ears.

 _Who is he?_

_It’s gotta be Kylo Ren._

A scoff, _She’s got some nerve bringing him here - with what he did to his family, his **father**! Jedi or not, I don’t know what she’s thinking._

_How could she?_

Wandering through the crowd towards the ship, you halt mid-step. The realization that no one had verbally broken the silence, washing over you. 

_“I am going seriously crazy,”_ you think, shuffling forward, slightly dazed. You’re nearly run over by the med transport, Ben in tow, Rey watching as it clears a line through the crowd. 

“(Y/LN)! What’re you doing? Hop on or move out!” Dr. Konaka yells, knocking you out of your frozen stupor. Hopping into the bed of the transport, your crouched form brushes against Ben’s shoulder. Sneaking a glance, you trace his features, heart picking up. Eyes widening, you recognize the thick mop of hair, bloodied and grimy from confrontation. While his eyes indicate some sense of peace, his body shoots off signals of distress, reverberating through your form. 

Staring down at him, you raise a curious hand, inexplicably drawn to comb your digits through his dark tresses, to comfort him. Snapping yourself out of your trance, you quickly pull your hand back, worrying the pad of your thumb between your teeth. As the med transport rolls ahead, you’re nearly knocked out of your spot and onto the ground below, wheels catching on overgrown tree roots all over base. The third instance you’re nearly thrown from the vehicle, instincts kicking in, you grasp the nearest anchor, Ben’s shoulder, and cling to him with a death grip. Re-gaining your bearings, you shake off the quizzical look the medic opposite of you, Ellis grants you. Looking away, you release your hold, cheeks burning red. 

As the transport nears the med tent, the engine rattles to a low hum, slowing on approach. In a harsh jerk, the vehicle halts, medics and doctors hopping out of their seats. Following suit, you nearly face-plant in the dirt as your clumsy leg catches the side of the truck bed. Clamoring down on semi-stable legs, you rush to the aid of Andra, rolling a gurney from the tent entrance to the edge of the transport. 

“Is it really him?” Andra whispers, nudging you harshly with her elbow. Wincing, you rub the tender spot on your bicep.

“Yeah. Well - I don’t know. Yes? Maybe, I guess?” you offer. Brow furrowed, Andra’s head turns to scrutinize you, still nursing the spot she’d assaulted. 

“What the Kriff do you mean, **maybe** you guess,” Andra mutters, sarcasm dripping heavily from her tone. Attention snapping back to Andra, the gurney comes to a halt, doctors directing the stretcher into an isolated room. 

The moment his stretcher is secure, a medic near his feet begins cutting his garments from his body to assess the damage. As his shirt begins to split, your eyes wander to the preexisting hole in the fabric, recognizing it from your dream. The fabric, split down the middle, reveals his toned torso, broad and severely bruised. Turning to the back of the room, you grab several vital patches, rushing back to where he lay. Carefully placing them, the machinery in the room hums to life, sounding gentle yet penetrating beeps with each pulse of his heart. 

“His vitals are quite low,” Dr. Konaka states, watching the monitor on his left. “He’s suffered a lot of internal damage. He’s going to need to be submerged in a bacta tank,” he continues. 

“But we only have two available, sir,” medic Oltere speaks up. Dr. Konaka’s head slowly whirls to meet the eyes of Oltere. 

“Did I ask how many bacta tanks we have, **Henrik**?” 

Silence fills the once chaotic room. Oltere gulps, “No, but - all do respect sir, shouldn’t we be saving those resources? You know.... for the people who deserve them?” Medics and doctors look between the pair in shock, tension painting the small space. 

“He’s a patient,” Konaka scoffs in disgust. Gathering himself, returning to a state of stoic professionalism, scanning the room, Konaka continues, “If any of you feel the way Oltere does, please feel free to leave my tent,” eyes finding Oltere’s, “...and don’t bother coming back,” Konaka booms. 

Oltere stands, frozen in the center of the room, medics around you feigning productivity. Oltere crosses his arms, defeatedly chuckles, and exits the room, shaking his head. 

“If you _don’t_ take issue with treating a critically injured patient, **get back to work**!” Konaka exclaims, causing the temporarily halted bustle to resume. 

Shaken, you weave through medics, moving towards Ben’s bedside. As the team prepares to escort Ben to the bacta tank, you move to insert Ben’s IV. Searching for a vein, needle in hand, you begin to shake, stomach churning. Looking down at quaking hands, the needle drops inexplicably, drawing the attention of the med team. 

Muffled voices prick at your ears, concern painting your coworkers’ faces. Various medics make their way towards your distressed form. Pushing them away, you stumble towards the main hallway, moving as fast as you can to the exit. The moment your boot steps past the threshold, the contents of your stomach empty out onto the ground below. 

Heaving, you remain half-bent, attempting to catch a substantial breath. 

_Why is this happening?_

_Why is this happening?_

_**Why is this happening?** _

Pulling yourself back up to your standing height, you close your eyes, taking several deep breaths to steady yourself, grounding breaths. With one last exhale, you open your eyes, spinning on your heel, marching with purpose back inside the tent. Halting in front of the intensive unit, you peel back the cloth partition, peeking into the small room. 

Engulfed in a clear tank, Ben floats, black breathing tube the only sign of life. Around him, monitors beep steadily, indicating his vital functions were still.... well _functioning_. Adopting some sense of bravery, you allow your body to carry you into the room, curious. Moving up to the tank for a closer look, Ben’s features are clearer now, _as are his injuries_. 

Bruises of purple and blue riddle his body - face beaten, tired. With his clothing (save for his underpants) completely abandoned, the severity of his injuries become apparent - his torso, wracked with clear indications of a struggle, presumably fresh contact wounds and countless scars covering seemingly every inch of skin. You think back to how Rey looked exiting Luke’s X Wing - _was she being treated for her injuries?_ Looking back up to the tank, you place a hand to the glass, attempting to grasp the reality of your current circumstances. 

The Resistance had won. Your friends had finally come home. You should be overcome with joy, but instead, you find yourself questioning every aspect of your life. Anxious. 

Stepping away from the tank, feeling exponentially more confused, you turn to make an exit, only to find Andra peering in from the entryway. A look of guilt, _of remorse_ , soaking her features. 

“I - I’m glad I found you here,” she starts. “I just wanted to apologize. For what I said earlier? For how I acted?” her eyes focus on a spot on the floor, thumbs twiddling nervously. “I just - I was wrong, okay? And - and I just want to make sure you’re alright.... You really scared us in there,” she muses, finally meeting your eyes. 

Plastering a small, tired smile on your face, you nod. “It’s alright. I - I get it.... honestly. It’s been a high-emotion day - let's just forget it even happened,” you smile genuinely. 

A grin plays at Andra’s lips; although she hides it, the smile reaches her eyes. “Good. A truce then,” she states, nodding to herself. “But how are you?” she asks, concern etching her features. Stepping towards you, she places a friendly palm against your shoulder, brows furrowing in a pout. “I’m worried about you... I meant it when I said you work too hard,” you evade her eyes, worry reaching your face. “No offense, hun, but you look awful,” Andra chuckles, your head whipping up to meet her eyes, aggravation clear in your eyes. “Hey, hey, whoa, whoa. I **_said_** no offense,” Andra contests, throwing her hands up in faux surrender. 

“I’m fine, Andra. It’s just -” you wonder for a moment whether or not you should divulge the _actual_ reason why your mental and physical state are out of whack. As much as you love her, something tells you that you need to keep this to yourself ~~considering the whole amends-making happened not even three minutes ago~~. “I’ve just been so anxious since everyone left, you know?” sighing, “It’s been _harder_ to sleep than usual. No big deal. I should be back to normal tomorrow,” Andra spares you a questioning glance, eyes squinting the slightest bit. 

“Hmm. Okay. _Whatever you say_ ,” she replies, skepticism like molasses. “Oh, by the way,” she starts, spurring your attention. “Dr. Konaka wants you to take the rest of the day - no need for sick medics around sick patients, you know?” she says matter-of-factly, spinning on her heel. “See you later!” she waves, without glancing behind her. 

Sighing in relief and in frustration, you peel your eyes from the entryway and back to Ben, an exaggerated pout finding your lips. Crossing your arms, you make your way out of the unit, and out of the tent, stepping into the humid air. Brow furrowed, you imagine how daunting you must look, only to realize you most likely resemble a petulant child, marching off to their room. Marching past Resistance members scattered around the base, you become more and more angry, _how **dare** they celebrate and look happy?! Read the room, folks!_

A short stomp later, you cross the threshold into your tent, peeling the top from your body and angrily tossing it across the room. Kicking off your boots and socks, you climb into bed, electing to stare at the wall. 

_How dare they send me home?_

_I am **perfectly** capable of doing my job!  
I don’t need rest!_ your brain spits out, just as your system releases an obnoxiously-timed yawn. Rolling onto your back, you close your eyes in defeat - anxiety and frustration wreaking havoc on your body. 

Not so much as a moment after your eyes shut, your body is pulled deep into the cot, sinking heavily into sleep’s embrace. 

_You clutch your wrist, eyes watching your hand in horror as the burn spreads like wildfire. Silent tears steadily stream from the corner of your eyes, the pain almost blinding. Your saber lay on the floor, abandoned as soon as you were hit. Ben scrambles in front of you, half-crouched, ready to summon help._

_You knew you weren’t ready to practice with your saber, you were just so **excited** to be able to train with Ben again, pride getting in the way of reality. Ben’s hands find your shoulders, shaking you out of your own mind. Finally meeting his eyes, you reach your uninjured hand to cup his cheek, attempting to comfort him. Ben’s expression betrays terror, you can tell he’s horrified about what he’s done, regardless of the fact that the incident was accidental. Stroking his cheek, his eyes close and brows furrow, bringing his hand up to engulf yours, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. _

_“It’s okay,” your thoughts whisper._

_“I hurt you. I -” he replies aloud. Hushing him, you shake your head, the pain in his tone momentarily numbing the ache in your palm. Wiping a stray tear with your injured hand, wincing immediately, Ben traps it, grabbing hold of your wrist as you attempt to retreat. Removing his free hand from yours on his face, he envelops your tender appendage. Shaking your head, the pain of the contact heady and white hot, pulling fresh tears from your eyes, Ben holds your gaze. “Do you trust me?” momentarily taken aback, you nod, the pain temporarily subsiding. “I’m - I’m going to try to make it feel better, okay?” wordlessly, you nod once again, brow creased in confusion._

_Ben nods, closing his eyes, breathing deeply, steadily. His grip on your hand causes you to wince just before it begins to soothe. With each breath, the dull burn reduces to nothingness. Sensing the shift, Ben’s eyes open, immediately connecting with yours. His grip on your hand loosens, opening up. With your newly-gained mobility, you lift your hand from his, surveying the once-charred flesh, replaced with fresh live cells. Almost as good as new - save for the minute scar, splitting your palm between your middle and ring fingers._

_“How did you - how did you do that, Ben?” you ask in astonishment._

_Chuckling, Ben beams at you. Heart fluttering, a blush creeps into your cheeks. “How do you think? Hmm?” he asks in response, playfully nudging your shoulder._

_“Thanks,” you chuckle coyly, avoiding eye contact._

_“Of course. Besides - I don’t even know how I’d explain that to Uncle Luke,” he snickers, standing from his place in one smooth motion, offering a hand to you. Shyly, you grasp it, surprised at the ease with which he lifts you. “From now on, let’s just work with the staves,” he chortles._

_“Deal. But I’ll just have you know - I won’t be going easy on you next time, Solo” you reply, giggling._

_“ **You better not** ,” jests Ben. _

Eyes opening, your focus remains trained on the dimly-lit cloth ceiling overhead. Raising the injured hand from your dream to your face, you notice the slightest divot in the flesh, vaguely resembling a scar. 


	4. Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of your dreams - regardless of your attachment, you’re afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, as always thank you so much for your kind words and for sticking with me on this journey. (Slight TW for needles - they give me the heebie jeebies, so be warned. I promise they're just mentioned in a medical setting.)
> 
> I feel really awful about not being able to get this chapter out earlier. I've been having a really difficult time grappling with the events of the past week. My mental state took a bit of a dive as a result of the current state of the United States and the world. As a Black woman, I want to thank any and all of those standing up for racial equality around the world and for fighting against injustices within their communities.
> 
> As for this chapter, I was really excited to give you a little bit of Reader/Ben content (not in a dreamscape!!! Who knew if these two would actually meet/speak outside of dreamscapes??!) and it is a little bit on the longer side. As always, I love hearing your feedback and hope you enjoy it.

Unceremoniously plopping your hand back down to your side, an amused huff parts your lips, breaking the silence in the tent. Signalling nightfall, the low light of the moon and the warm lanterns scattered amongst base slip gently through the partially-closed entryway. Furrowing your brow, your teeth find your bottom lip, nipping the plush flesh, pondering the newest addition of your ~~rapidly growing~~ _”Bizarre Dreams of Ben”_ mental collection. 

Thoughts swirl around every crevice of your mind. You wonder why - _how_ Ben’s mere presence had spurred such a significant physical reaction and deemed you incapacitated. Your limbs carry the same leaden sleep-deprived ache akin to exhaustion, despite the slumber from which you’d awoken. Turning onto your side, you clutch and soothe your palm with the pad of the opposite hand’s thumb, the phantom sting singeing your flesh. However, most noticeable is the lingering sense of comfort you felt in Ben’s care. His gaze, searing into yours seemed to transcend any physical distress you experienced. You felt whole in his proximity, further making your waking life feel all-the-more lonely. Hot tears sting the corners of your eyes, as you realize just how isolated you felt. 

You had known nothing before the Resistance. You had been rescued from some burning planet in some far-off system as a teen, left with no belongings, no family, no memories of your life before. Pondering your attachment to the mysterious stranger on base, it’s really no wonder you had attached yourself to him so willingly. To you, Ben was another lost soul, on a constant mission for answers. Answers to a past he can’t decipher. Answers to a life that feels devoid of love, of attachment, of identity. _Hollow_. 

Feeling the warm path of a tear stream down your cheek, you absentmindedly wipe your face on the cool sheet beneath you, effectively banishing the thoughts from the air. The soft buzz of your datapad disturbs the stillness of your quarters, creating a steady, low hum on the old wooden desk at your bedside. You wearily pull your upper-body upright to reach the device, flipping it over and immediately wincing and covering your eyes as harsh illumination infiltrates the space. 

Eyes still shocked, you managed to wrench them open just enough to focus on your screen. _Ten messages from Andra._ Quickly glancing through, you notice that her messages seem to become less and less coherent. 

_Hun! Are you alright? You really scared me earlier today. Please promise me you’re not still mad at me..._

_A bunch of us are heading over to the cantina to celebrate tonight. If you want, you can come.... I’d really like to see you... but I’d understand if you don’t want to..._

_Please answer.... let me know you're alive!!!_

_**Hours later...** _

_You will not BELIEVE. Everybody’s here! You HAVE to come! Finn’s buying everyone their first drink! He called me Andrea! He ~~kind of~~ knows my name!_

_Omg. Poe's sweet self is here. He's all broody. YUM._

_whoops. im on drink #8? mayb 9?_

_U kno ur my best friend right??_

_sjhdwlnflenfl2ee3 ~~Buttdial~~_

_im totall gonna kis mr. poe 2nite. u just wait n see._

_I just lobe u. I wisj you’d come. We’re habing such a gr8 time. But it would be SO much better if u were herw too._

__Chuckling, you set down your datapad. _Clearly_ Andra was right. Swinging your legs from your bed, you decide that socializing would be the most effective way to deal with your current mental state. Despite your usually antisocial disposition, you actually feel ~~dare you say~~ _excited_?

Peeling a forest green tank top over your unruly, sleep-disheveled hair, you haphazardly check yourself in the small mirror over your bedside table before pulling on your boots and forcing your limbs out of the security of your tent. 

All you hear on your walk towards the cantina is the heavy crunch of dirt and leaves beneath your boots and the sharp exhale of your breath - your mind doing mental gymnastics attempting to convince you to turn back to the safety of your cloth walls. You don’t even realize the instance your feet had carried you to your destination. Looking up, you blink in horror, immediately processing the rowdy sound of celebration - looking straight into the open entryway of the cantina.

_No turning back now._

Wafts of humid air - the stench of spilled liquor and ale confront your nasal passage as immediately as you breach the entryway. Bodies upon bodies linger in seemingly every corner of the bar, leaving barely any room for personal space. You inwardly scowl at the thought of _appearing_ happy. While you carefully scrutinize the space, a slightly inebriated engineer stumbles, knocking a near-full beer straight onto your boots, splashing up, dampening the cuffs of your pants. 

Eyes drawn to the mysterious liquid slicking the floor and making your soles tacky, you jump a step backwards, out of the doorway. Already in a foul mood, you itch to turn back, to ~~zip~~ lock yourself into your tent, to disappear entirely. 

~~Butterfingers~~ The engineer looks between the floor and your scowling expression. “Sheesh did I do that?” he inquires, a lazy smile painting his face. Noting the lack of amusement in your expression, his smile drops, replaced by a clear look of remorse. “Hey, look. I’m - I’m really sorry about that. I - I’ll replace your boots if you want,” he offers, slightly raising his shoulders in surrender, in clear apology. 

Unable to hold up the angry _“I’ll eff you up, man!”_ farce, you smile weakly at him, body relaxing the slightest bit. “Don’t worry about it. My boots will be fine. They’ve seen much worse,” you chuckle. Given the onslaught of vomit they faced not even six hours ago, that last statement rings _especially_ true. Relief washes over his face as he laughs along with you _a little too enthusiastically_. Pursing your lips, you nod your head, squeezing by the ~~still laughing~~ engineer. 

Eyes scanning the dimly-lit venue, you search for anyone - any sign that you shouldn’t up-and-leave right now. Just before you convince yourself to retreat, you hear a shrill voice calling your name in amusement. 

_Andra_

You can’t tell whether or not you’re actually happy she found you. 

Focusing yourself to where your ears had picked up her voice, you spot her. She’s surrounded ~~nearly blocked~~ by several bodies. You’re essentially only able to see her because her torso practically _lies_ on the bar, left hand waving lazily towards you. 

Andra waves you over exaggeratedly to a standing table - surface covered by glasses and bottles. Surrounding the table are several familiar and new faces, ranging from medics to engineers, to comms workers. 

Upon arrival, you’re pulled into a tight embrace with Andra, her inebriated voice mumbling something into the fleshiest patch of your shoulder. Laughing, you pull her away by her shoulders, met with a lazy smile. 

“Let’s get you a drink!” She slurs, eliciting a raucous yell of approval from the surrounding individuals. Almost as if on cue, a brawny engineer returns to the table with handfuls of assorted beverages. Wondering _how in the Kriff_ he’s able to carry so many drinks at once, he tosses a full pint directly in front of you, liquid sloshing onto the table from the sudden movement. 

Surveying the cantina, you note the few familiar faces (mostly doctors or medics) and the many unfamiliar faces filling the crevices of the room. 

_Kriff, I need to get out more often_  
To your surprise, you spot Poe, Finn, Chewie, and Rose at a table in the far back corner of the room - surrounded by other Resistance members. Finn, Chewie, and Rose entertain the fighters excitedly speaking to them while Poe’s sight remains glued to his hand on his glass. Poe sits dejectedly, slumped in his seat, paying no mind to the general environment of exuberance. Instead, anger - defeat rolls off of his body in sharp waves. You can’t help but raise your brows and lower your eyes in sympathy feeling his mood. Turning back to your table, you try to shake your own sense of uneasiness. 

Over the course of an hour, you nurse your ale while your rowdy counterparts go through _several_ refills. The atmosphere within the cantina gradually grows in people, volume, and celebration. You can’t help but feel relatively out of place, still lost in thought. Your distraction becoming just another glaring reminder of your crushing sense of loneliness. Losing yourself, the brash sound of excitement becomes nothing more than a dull murmur. Studying the bubbles in the (now dissipating) foam of your ale, you chuckle whenever the group erupts into laughter, but are never able to allow the expression to reach your eyes. Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you decide to make a graceful exit. Just as you open your mouth to take your ~~much anticipated~~ leave, another voice captures the attention of the surrounding group. 

“Did you hear what Rey did? Or rather _who_....” Zydre, an engineer, chuckles, a devilish smirk overtaking her face. The small group gathered around you begins to snicker and whisper with each other.

“Oh Kriff can you believe?!” replies Andra, laughing along with the group.

“What are you talking about?” You interject, concern lacing your features, the thick sense of dread seeping through you. _You should’ve just stayed quiet_.

“Oh come **on**!” Zydre replies, amusement coating her voice. “It’s obvious.” She looks at you incredulously. “Rey’s obviously got Kylo in her bed. That’s the only reason she’d bring him ba -”

“His name is Ben.” You interrupt - the words slipping from your mouth before you’ve processed them.

“Ben?” Zydre huffs. “Okay. **Ben** then...” She chuckles, looking around the now quieting group. Sensing the awkward shift, Zydre looks around the group and continues. “I bet _Ben_ played some Jedi mind trick on her and made Rey bring him here... I mean it wouldn’t be that difficult! He’s already got the features... I mean it’s not like he’s _ugly_ or anything. Objectively speaking... Maybe he just charmed her with his _boyish good looks_. What if he’s just plotting how to take us down... **again**!” 

You sense the tension shift. The people around you begin nodding their heads, the jovial expressions falling from their faces. Your blood begins to boil. You clench your fists, aiming to channel your anger into the flesh of your palm rather than the flesh of Zydre’s face. 

Liquid courage stealing your voice from you, you all but yell, “So you question Rey’s judgement? She’s the only reason we’re still alive! You really think - after all she’s seen, all she’s _done_ , she would willingly put us all in danger again?” jaw clenched, you peer around the room. Only then do you realize the cantina was effectively silent. 

Zydre raises a brow, matching your sense of gravitas, she steps forward. “I think... when you’re in love, or **whatever** , it’s easy to overlook signs of danger.” Zydre seethes, barely restraining her growing anger. “I think,” She says, returning her attention to the crowd, “ _he’s danger_. We need to get him out of here. **Now**.” 

Uncomfortable silence around the cantina is replaced with hums of approval and acknowledgement. You glance around - stunned silent. “Are you all _Kriffing crazy_?! What are you even talking about doing?! **He’s just a person! Have you never made a mistake before**?!” You all but scream - eliciting the attention of all in the cantina. Your skin buzzes as you’re met with deafening silence. Your chest heaves with each breath you take, your eyes, crazed, your teeth, bared.

“(Y/N)... why do you even care about what happens to him?” a new voice snaps from the back of the room. Recognizing his timbre immediately, you turn to see Poe _General Dameron_ slamming his drink on the table and standing from his place, eliciting a pause. “You do realize he’s the reason General Organa’s gone, right?” he steps toward you, creating a path through the crowd. “You do realize that **he’s the reason both Leia and Han _are dead_**! Right?!” the room falls silent, tension thick, nearly suffocating. Standing just inches from you, leaning forward so his breath tickles your face, “So why do you care, doc? Huh?” Poe speaks to you, through you - his voice, quiet, yet piercing. Sneering, he continues, just low enough for only you to hear, “Maybe you should just - pretend to care about us.... Pretend you care that he killed thousands of our friends - people who relied on us. Hmm?,” tears prick at your eyes as you attempt to evade his stare. “And if you can’t pretend... stay out of it. Focus on your job.” Poe turns on his heel and heads back to his table.

Exhausted, agitated, embarrassed, and reeling, you pull yourself from the now silent crowd. Just as the crowd had cleared for Poe, they part for you, only, as you make the long walk to the exit, you feel ostracized, isolated. After making eye contact with several confused, **angry** faces, your vision bows towards the floor, electing to avoid the expressions you _know_ paint every face in the vicinity. 

_What the hell was that?_

_Is she insane?_

_Figures. It’s always the ones who don’t do any of the **actual** fighting who have the most to say. _

Buzzing in the back of your skull, ringing like gongs through your ears, the voices of several Resistance members scattered about the bar taunt you, scold you. Rising anger boils in your lower belling, bringing with it the painful sting of unauthorized tears. Your feet carry you quickly from the cantina, eyes erupting as soon as the night air prickles your skin. 

Sobbing, you continue trekking, eyes blinded by the salty evidence of your frustration. Crossing your arms over your chest, attempting to make yourself ~~vanish~~ smaller, you make your way in a flurry through base. 

Feeling deeply insignificant, your pride doesn’t allow you to carry yourself to your tent - doesn’t allow you to bury yourself alive in blankets. Instead, your legs scurry to one of the only places you feel comfortable at night - one of the only places you feel **you matter**. 

Boots finding the med tent as if equipped with autopilot, you pause, chest heaving in front of the tent momentarily. Collecting yourself, you exhale a deep, wavering, grounding breath, attempting to shed the emotions coursing through you. The embarrassment, the anger, the confusion becoming less and less significant - less debilitating with each intake of breath. 

Finding your way inside the chilly tent, you pull on one of the sterile coats, gently dangling in the medic entryway. Pulling the slightly large unisex piece of apparel on, you take a deep, grounding breath. _Maybe Poe’s right. Maybe you **should** just focus on your job_. Shaking the tears threatening to escape your eyes, you turn, grabbing a clipboard, prepared to check patients around the facility. 

Rounding the corner into the main entryway, you spot the med droids once again, charging at their stations. To your surprise, Dr. Konaka leans against the main desk, head in his hands. 

_Usually only medics and assistants are here this late._ You muse.

Walking up to him, slowly, quietly, you gently rustle his left shoulder, “Dr. Konaka....is - is everything alright?” you ask tentatively, effectively jarring him from his relaxed position. Scrambling up to face you, a tired Dr. Konaka confronts your form with a nervous smile.

“Y-yes! I just was finishing up with one of our patients...” he pauses, aiming that same nervous smile towards the floor. “It seems that our newest patient, Ky - Ben! Ben - erm... his connection to the force _significantly_ sped up his treatment. Well - that and the bacta tank, of course,” he chuckles to himself, quiet snorts piercing the silence. Gathering his thoughts again, Dr. Konaka raises his gaze to you, worry etched into his eyes, betraying the small smile on his lips. “I know there’s a lot of... _conflicting_ perceptions of the boy... even floating around this very tent!” he huffs, notably exasperated. “B - but first and foremost... he is a patient. And he is just as **deserving** of our care as anyone else, right?!” it seems almost as if Dr. K is trying to convince himself to believe his words. Rubbing the wrinkles in his forehead he continues, “I’ve assembled a small team - to come and help me transfer him to a bed, to his own wing.... But it’s looking like I’m on my own on this one,” he exhales, disappointment evident in his tone and in the way his body collapses. He gazes around the tent, completely lost in thought. 

“I can help. I can help you, Dr. Konaka,” you reply, voice sounding before your brain can process it. 

“You will?” Dr. K looks up. In bewilderment? Yes. Relief? Most definitely. You realize then, that Dr. Konaka would’ve had no issues transferring Ben on his own. You realize then, that Dr. Konaka is afraid of him - harboring at least some hint of the same sentiment that _essentially_ the entirety of the Resistance feels for him. The thought prompts the faintest bit of sadness to swirl deep in your gut. “(Y/LN), you went to your chambers today. You weren’t well. I - I can’t ask that of you,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

Placing your hand on his shoulder once again, you engage a facade of pure resolve, of confidence. “Doctor, I’m not asking. I am **telling** you that I am okay and I am going to help you. Please,” your eyes, red, your cheeks, still sticky with tears. You are nearly convinced Dr. K will send you home ~~for the second time that day~~ when his eyebrows raise in the slightest, a hint of a smile forms on his lips.

“Well - alright then! Wash up, and meet me in the IC Unit,” Dr. K responds, smiling, patting your extended forearm, and disappearing into the hallway. Momentarily stunned, you stand frozen in place, dumbfounded that you had _actually_ volunteered to transfer THE Kylo- _Ben_ anywhere without the whole of the Resistance backing you. 

Regardless of your dreams - regardless of your attachment, you’re afraid too. 

Washing up in the sink behind the medic desk, you splash a bit of the cool water on your face ~~to attempt to clear your mind~~ for good measure. Hesitantly making your way down the corridor to the Intensive Care Unit, you crumple the hem of your coat in your damp palms. 

Finding the entryway of the IC Unit, you steal a glance inside, noting that Dr. K has already begun draining the tank, bacta fluid only covering Ben up to his shoulders. A droid begins unscrewing the top of the tank, Dr. K carefully scrutinizing its work while simultaneously reading Ben’s chart.  
The droid elicits a series of calm _beeps_ , drawing Dr. K’s attention from the tank and the med chart to your ~~cowering~~ form in the doorway. 

“Oh! There you are!” Dr. K exclaims excitedly, waving you over with his free hand. “It’s just incredible, isn’t it?” he inquires, wonder glossing over his eyes as he watches Ben’s floating body in the tank. 

“I’m sorry? I’m not following?” you reply, looking between the tank and Dr. Konaka.

“The effect of the Force on healing,” Dr. K replies incredulously, not sparing a glance in your direction. 

“ _Ahhh.... Yes. Impressive...”_ you reply, nodding your head, brows furrowed. Glancing back over to Dr. K (who was obviously still entranced). To be fair, Ben _is_ an impressive specimen. You have a much better opportunity to ~~ogle~~ observe him (in a purely medical sense, _of course_ ) in this setting. 

The disconcerting bruises ranging from purple to black which riddled his torso not twelve hours ago had now healed to faint yellow patches of skin. With the absence of all clothes, save for his undergarments, you’re able to see the extent of the damage Ben underwent. The troubling gash on his leg from earlier, now fully visible. While still somewhat disorienting, the abrasion had faded to what seems to be a superficial trauma wound. While perusing his body for injury, you can’t help but notice the almost statuesque nature of his build - muscles forming a sort of flesh fortress. _He’s really something_. Your cheeks burn red as you realize where your thoughts had led you. Looking down at your boots, you clear your throat. 

As the bacta fluid drains to Ben’s upper abdomen, Dr. K momentarily slows the drain function, turning away from Ben to meet your eyes. 

“I need you to roll a gurney in. I’m going to finish draining his tank and the DD unit’s going to help me rotate the tank for extraction,” Dr. K states, seriousness lacing his tone. “Once the tank is ready, I’ll just need your help getting him onto the gurney, and I can take it from there.” he finishes, patting your shoulder lightly. 

With a swift nod of your head, you spin on your heel, exiting the room. Moving back through the corridor towards the tent entryway, you cross in front of the desk to the wall where several gurneys lay dormant. Grabbing the nearest one, you roll it back towards the direction you came from, immediately noticing an _annoyingly_ squeaky wheel. Nearly tempted to turn back and procure a new gurney, you decide against it, hearing the telltale sound of the bacta tank rotating from its usual vertical position. 

Rolling into the room, Dr. K stands on a low stool, disconnecting the breathing apparatus from Ben’s face. “Perfect timing! I’m just going to disconnect him from the tank and I’ll have DD brace his shoulders” he says while meticulously fumbling with the wiring and tubing that connects Ben to various parts of the tank. Once finished, he steps aside to allow the waiting DD to roll over to the tank, bracing his upper body. Dr. K waves you and the squeaky gurney over, assisting you in placing it next to the tank. 

“Alright, DD. Go ahead,” Dr. K orders, immediately moving to grasp Ben’s lower body as the DD unit pulls his torso out of the tank. You nearly laugh, noticing Dr. K’s struggle to balance the remainder of Ben’s weight as more of him is pulled from the tank. Huffing a deep breath of exertion, Dr. K steadies himself, talking to the DD unit as they gently set Ben on the gurney, his weight immediately sinking into the thin material. 

“Alright, (Y/LN). I’ve got it from here. Thank you for your help. I greatly appreciate it,” Dr. K says, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. Noting the obvious fatigue in his eyes and in his voice, you chew on your lower lip, feeling a sense of sympathy for him. _He’s been here all day... He’s been taking care of patients by himself for Kriff knows how long_. 

“Dr. Konaka?” placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, he meets your eyes. “Please go home. Go get some rest. I can get him settled,” you finish, a soft smile gracing your features in an attempt to reassure him. 

“I don’t want to burden you wit-” 

“Dr. K. _Please_ go home. You need to rest. _I promise_ it’s not a burden. He _is_ a patient. I promise I’ll be fine - **he’ll** be fine.” you interject, a stronger, more resolute smile pulling on your lips. 

“Well... alright. But please do not hesitate to page me on my datapad if you need help. You may want to give him ten milligrams of Parpoloxin before you leave, so any residual pain doesn’t wake him. He needs rest,” Dr. K responds, his hand coming up to squeeze your forearm in gratitude. 

“Will do, Dr. K.” 

Handing Ben’s chart to you, he makes his way out of the entryway, waving a hand in acknowledgement. 

The hint of a smile still on your lips, you chance a glance at Ben’s sleeping form on the gurney, making your way to the end where his feet rest. Grasping the thin side bars, you begin to lead the gurney out of the room and into the dim hallway. 

Pushing him to room 1-34, you pause the gurney’s movement momentarily to flip the light switch on. Instantly, sterile bright light floods the room, shocking your senses. You panic glancing down at the sleeping patient in your care, relieved to find that Ben had not so much as stirred. Electing not to risk startling your patient awake, you decide to turn the light off once again. Having worked with patients on the base for years, you feel comfortable working with nothing but the dim light of the corridor. 

Moving his gurney to the center of the room, you move to the small closet in the corner. Rummaging through, you grasp two plush pillows, a set of sheets, and a warm wool blanket. Setting the sheets and blankets onto a nearby stool, you tentatively move to Ben’s bedside, pillows in tow. Setting the pillows softly onto the space on his gurney _somewhat_ unoccupied, you gently slide a hand under his head, fingers tickled by soft tufts of hair. With your other hand, you stabilize his neck, moving the hand from his hair down the gurney to grab a pillow and place it delicately under his head. Pulling his upper body slightly higher, you gently stack the second pillow. As you rest his head back down to rest, your hand pushes the unruly hair from his face on instinct. _Get it together!_ Immediately drawing your hand back, you turn back to place his sheets over him. Tucking the sheets under his feet and pulling them up his body, you tuck the top corners under his torso, surprised at how low the sheets rest on his long frame. 

Before folding his blanket onto his body, you place several vital patches onto his chest and upper torso, immediately prompting the monitor in the room to hum to life. The steady beep of his heart rate replaces the otherwise peaceful silence. Pulling out your datapad, you summon DD to the room with Ben’s medication along with a sterile IV needle, taking a careful seat opposite Ben in a small visitor’s chair. Moments after filing your request, you hear the soft whirr of wheels nearing in the corridor. Standing from your place, you meet DD and grab the tray from the droid. 

“Thanks, DD,” you whisper, DD responding in a series of beeps as it rolls back down the hall. 

Crossing back into Ben’s room, you flip the light switch back on, wincing as the room is once again blinded by light ~~and hoping Ben doesn’t wake~~. Quickly moving back to Ben’s bedside, you pull a pair of sterile gloves from the cabinet just adjacent to his gurney. Pulling the IV stand from the corner of the room, you wheel it over to Ben’s side, unwrapping the IV needle and connecting the IV tube to the vessel. 

Gently pulling Ben’s arm from under his sheets, you delicately press into his forearm, quickly finding a feasible vein. Meticulously, you place the needle into his flesh, waiting for the tip to disappear into the pale skin before removing the needle, pressing the tube in place. Simultaneously, you grab a bit of surgical tape to hold the tube in place, discarding the used needle in the waste receptacle. Looking up towards the IV stand, you make sure the fluids drip steadily into Ben’s line. Satisfied, you grab the small vial of medication and the fresh needle from your tray, uncapping the needle and submerging the tip into the clear liquid, pulling the plug back until the medication hit the 10 milligram mark. Giving the needle body a soft flick with your pointer finger _for good measure_ , you insert it into the top bit of space in Ben’s IV, trickling down to meet the rest of the intravenous fluids. 

With Ben’s medication administered, you pull his arm back under his sheets and tuck it in softly, careful not to disturb the IV tube. Moving back to the stool, you grab his abandoned blanket and softly pull it to cover his chest, leaving his feet and ankles clothed only by sheets. 

_You win some, you lose some_. Shrugging, you fill out some of Ben’s chart, hanging it on the wall near his IV stand. Surveying your work, you do a final walk-through of the room, ensuring you didn’t forget anything ~~electing to fluff and adjust his pillows **multiple** times~~. 

Finally content with the job you’d done, Ben looking extraordinarily peaceful in warm sheets, tucked just under his arms, cocooning him in white cloth, you turn to leave the room. Fingers resting on the light switch, the faint sound of rustling fabric catches your attention, slowing your retreat. Quizzically peering over your shoulder, your eyes widen at the sight of Ben, now noticeably stirring awake, causing you to squeak _almost_ imperceptibly. Frantically, you nearly bat the lightswitch _off_ and attempt to steal out of the room before Ben wakes, before he notices he’s not alone. Just as the victory of escape graces your mind, rounding the corner... 

“Doctor?” you halt mid-step. 

_Maybe if I just wait it out, quietly, he’ll think I’m gone_. To no avail, Ben parrots himself, slightly louder, stronger, “Doctor? Is - is anyone there?” his voice, weak. A surge of guilt eats away at your resolve. You can’t just leave him, now. 

Spinning around, you lean your upper body against the doorframe, peeking the top of your head into the now dark room. “I’m sorry. Doctor Konaka went to his quarters for the night...” you place a tentative hand on the frame, pulling the remainder of your body into the entryway. “Would - would you like me to page him?” taking a small step inside the threshold, you wait anxiously for a response. You so desperately don’t want to wake Dr. K to come _back_ to the tent, but you _also_ just as equally do not want to be the first thing ~~Kylo~~ Ben encounters consciously since Kriff knows when. The sheets shift, a pained groan following, prompting you to step nearer, closer. 

“N - no, it’s fine. Could you please just get me some water?” he murmurs tiredly, voice gravelly. 

“Uh.... yes... **Yes!** Of course,” clearing your throat, you turn to exit the room again, barely taking a step towards the door before his deep baritone sounds. 

“What um... what happened? Where am I?” he grumbles quietly. 

Inhaling a deep intake of breath, you purse your lips, attempting to put together some coherent detailing of the day’s events. 

Finally exhaling after what seems like minutes, you stumble on your words, stepping back towards his bedside, completely abandoning your water-fetching task. “Erm... well... I don’t know the specifics... but erm.... The Resistance won the war, you.... obtained _significant_ internal injuries during said war.” 

_Sheesh why am I so Kriffing awkward?_ A quiet chuckle follows your inward musing almost as if he had heard you mentally berate yourself. You’re thankful for the dark shield of night filling the room, certain that your face resembles a tomato. Evening your voice out, you continue, “Rey,” a smile graces your lips when you utter her name, “Rey she... she saved you. She brought you back! Here!” your voice raises in clear excitement. 

Another quiet chortle erupts from the mass on the gurney, “Where’s ‘here’?” amusement painting the question. 

_Sheesh. Am I an idiot, or what?_ you think, scoffing to yourself. 

“I don’t know... **Are you**?” Ben jests. Eyes widening, your jaw drops open. 

_They can really do tha-_ “You can really do that?!” you all but yell, shocked by the realization. 

A hearty, genuine, melodic laugh answers your inward and outward musings. Bewildered, your own laugh nearly shocks you as it escapes your chest. For a moment, the polyphony of your joint laughter was all that could be heard in the small room. Settling into a comfortable silence, “We’re on the Resistance base. On Ajan Kloss,” you finally reply; the only indication that he’d heard you, a soft hum reverberating amidst the silence. Unable to decipher whether or not the convivial moment was over, you begin to fulfill your original task once again, turning towards the hallway. 

“You remind me of someone”. His words freeze you in place, panic suddenly grumbling through your body. “Someone I once knew,” he continues, voice drenched in nostalgia and the faintest hint of - _regret_? “She um. She knew me - before. Before _everything_... I hurt her. I know I did. And I was a coward. I - I erased myself from her life and her from mine,” a click of his tongue precedes a deep inhale. 

“Well. Now that all of this is over... maybe this is your chance - to... make amends,” you reply, somberly. Still facing the hallway, you turn to look towards him. 

“No.” his voice is resolute. You would almost mistake it for anger were it not for the soft crack in his voice, betraying sentiment. “She’ll never know me again” an inhale, “Not like she used to. And even if she did, why would she forgive me?” he asks, genuine wonder lacing the question. You feel the pain, the _want_ , the hopelessness in his voice. 

“Well I believe... you are not the sum of your worst mistakes. Everyone deserves a second chance... Maybe she believes that too,” you reply with as much strength as you can muster, turning once again, walking to the hallway. “I’ll be back with your water, Ben,” you murmur over your shoulder, rounding the corner towards the med station. 

Stepping behind the desk, you wash your hands, noting the gentle tremor of the appendages, brimming with anxious energy. Ben’s words echo in your head. 

_You remind me of someone_. 

What you hadn’t had the strength to tell him was that he reminded you of someone too. Albeit you had dreamt of him, but speaking with him, interacting with him, _being_ with him spurred an unmistakable sense of familiarity within the deepest recesses of your being. Scrubbing your hands nearly raw, cool air erupts through the air dryer, effectively cooling them ~~damp~~ dry. Shaking off remaining drops of water onto the floor, you pace over to the water fountain, plucking a clean dry cup from the stand adjacent to it. Filling the cup, you attempt to clear your mind of any other embarrassing thoughts that might voice themselves in his presence. 

Walking back to his room, your hand continues to shake, knocking water droplets onto the floor below. Making your way inside, you gently knock on the small med table near the entrance, signalling your presence. Met with silence, you make your way to the opposite side of the room where a _less abrasive_ lightsource stands, needing at least minimal light to ensure you place the cup at his bedside - _the last thing you need is to spill cold water all over a potentially sleeping patient_. Turning the dial, a warm golden glow infiltrates the space, filling the room with soft luminescence. Quietly spinning around, your eyes adjust to the newly visible surroundings ~~and the newly visible patient~~. Eyes finding Ben, your breath catches in your lungs. 

_Kriff._ You exhale. While battered, you can’t help but notice how magnificent he looks. His head, angled slightly towards you, you pause to analyze his face up close. While asleep, he looks enviably at peace. His lips, slightly parted, emitting soft snores. Eyelids shut, his lashes rest atop purple under-eyes. His hair, in ruffles, messily frames his face and scatters about the pillowcase, painting the white fabric with sprouts of ink. Glancing down his body, your eyes land on the top of his exposed chest, assaulted with now yellowing bruises and lesions. The firm set of muscle and bone rises gently, steadily with each sturdy breath. The freckles which scatter his face flow down his neck and onto the skin covering his torso. You yearn to count each and every one. Tracing your vision back to his face, your eyes are immediately met by his - intense and searching. 

" _Shit. He totally thinks I’m a creep_ " you think, skin burning. 

His brows furrow in confusion, eyes darting around every corner of your face. 

Feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny, you blush, looking down and smiling sheepishly at your boots. “I’m sorry if I woke you”. Worrying your bottom lip in between your teeth, your free hand scrunches the fabric on your coat. “I just didn’t want to spill on you”. Nervously chuckling, you watch as he continues to stare intently. Releasing your coat, you slap your hands against the tops of your thighs, “So uh... I’m just gonna leave this here for you... I’ll be out in the hallway if you need anything else tonight,” you concede, gesturing with your thumb. You desperately attempt to scurry out of the room, bury yourself alive, do **anything** to disappear. In your feeble effort, you clumsily trip over wiring connecting Ben to various pieces of medical equipment scattered about the room. 

As your knees connect with the floor, you pull yourself up remarkably quickly, refusing to meet Ben’s gaze which continues to burn through you. 


End file.
